


Don't break all our mugs, we cant afford to replace them

by crm16



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Pre-Canon, mark has a mild freak out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crm16/pseuds/crm16
Summary: Mark was silent as the message ended and he and Roger stood in the apartment quietly for a long long moment. Then Mark seized the coffee mug and hurled it across the room with as much force as he could manage.OrMark really doesn't take it well when Benny's plans for the tent city come to light.





	Don't break all our mugs, we cant afford to replace them

Mark is so mad when he finds out that Benny's evicting the tent city in the lot next to their building that he throws a coffee mug across the apartment. It shatters against the wall with a crash, the loudest sound in the apartment in weeks. Now that Roger's doing well enough that he can mostly function like a regular person they tiptoe nearly silent around each other. Neither of them really sure where to start conversation about what they've been through in the past few months, and both somehow afraid that any disruption of this new semi-peace will throw them back into the horrible fights they've only recently moved past.

This all goes out the window when they hear about Benny though. It's Maureen that tells them, by voicemail, not in person. Maureen hasn't been in the apartment for more than a few minutes at a time since Roger started trying to get clean. The call had come when Roger and Mark were going through the tedious process of getting Roger to shower. He can barely manage to go in the bathroom, much less the shower, without someone in the bathroom with him. Mark sat quietly, as always, on the closed lid of the toilet, only speaking to confirm to Roger every so often that he's still there. Roger had tried to tell him to leave when the phone rang. 

"You can-" He began, hesitantly.

"If it's important they'll leave a message." Mark counters, he sounds tired, has for months. But this is, blessedly, easing as Roger improves.

"I'll be ok, Mark, you can go answer the phone." Roger says, staring at the wall and desperately wishing he'd stay, then feeling guilty for continuing to make his problems Mark's problems even as he gets better.

"Really Roger," Mark says gently, "it's fine." And the conversation ends.

In retrospect Roger's glad he hadn't left to answer the phone, because hearing the crash while he was in the shower probably would have sent him into a panic. Once Roger was out of the shower and dressed, they had made their way into the living room. Mark made a beeline for the kitchen, and Roger hit the button on their answering machine to play the message the mystery caller had left. 

"Mark you will never fucking believe what I just heard!" Maureen's angry voice filled their apartment. Mark and Roger shared a knowing look, Maureen often leaves them angry voice messages about the latest cause she's championing. However, the amusement faded from both their faces as the rest of her message played. 

Roger, well, he wasn't surprised. He'd been expecting Benny to pull something shitty since the wedding. But Mark, despite sharing Roger's (and their other friends') trepidation about Allison Grey, had the same blind trust for Benny he had for all the people he loved.

Roger watched the dawning shock on Mark's face as the message sank in, watched as it shifted into fury. Mark was silent as the message ended and he and Roger stood in the apartment quietly for a long long moment. Then Mark seized the coffee mug and hurled it across the room with as much force as he could manage. Roger startled hard at it. In all the long, troubled, months of Roger's withdrawal, and despite the brutal (often physical) fights they'd gotten into when Mark desperately tried to keep Roger in the apartment so he couldn't go out in search of something to get him high, Mark had never really lost his composure, his patience. Not like this.

Roger glances up from the smashed remains of the mug to Mark's face. He doesn't think he's ever seen him this mad. Roger opens his mouth to say something, though he doesn't know what, but is cut off by Mark beginning to shout.

"That bastard!" Mark shouts, slamming a hand down on the counter, making Roger jump again, "That horrible, sell out, piece of shit!" Mark begins to pace, rapidly, around their small kitchen. 

"How could he do this?" He gestures sharply as he talks, "Did everything we planned to work towards and fight for never mean anything to him?" He looks at Roger for a moment like he expects a response, Roger opens his mouth, again unsure of what to say, only to be cut off again.

"I can't believe it all meant so little to him that he would throw it away at the first opportunity! I cant believe WE meant so little to him!" Mark kicks one of the kitchen chairs and it goes over with a clatter. 

"How could it be so easy for him to throw it all away? We left college together! We came here together! We were gonna help people. How could he do this? How could he do this to me?" Abruptly all the fight goes out of him, and his eyes well up with tears. 

It's this that finally snaps Roger out of his startled trance. Mark's crying. Mark's CRYING. Roger' never once seen Mark cry, and he's known him for years. But here he is, standing in the kitchen, his shoulders shaking and face wet with tears. For a minute Roger considers calling Collins. Collins always knows what to say, the philosophical bastard.

'Don't be a coward' he thinks angrily to himself, 'after all he's done for you, you owe him this. At the very least.' He crosses the living room in long, quick, strides, and wraps his arms around Mark's shaking frame. Mark leans heavily into him, making these horrible sort of gasping sounds as he cries. 

"I k-know it's sel-selfish," He chokes out, "Making it about me wh-when so many people will suffer because of i-it." 

"Oh Mark," Roger says, "You are the least selfish I know." He tightens his arms around Mark. Running one hand up and down his back, soothingly, he hopes. He supposes it is, because Mark winds his arms around Roger's waist, and crowds, impossibly, closer to him. 

They stay that way for a while. Gradually Mark calms down, until they stand, silently, leaning against each other. Roger rests his head gently on top of Mark's, breathing in the scent of his cheap shampoo. And he feels Mark tuck his face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, can feel the wetness of his tears. Mark heaves a huge sigh, and Roger can feel the goosebumps rise along his collar bone where the air rushes over it. 

"I should call Maureen back, or tell Collins. Or both, probably both." Mark says, voice hoarse from the shouting and/or crying.

"Yeah," Roger agrees, "And I should probably sweep up that fucking mug." 

Mark chuckles a little bit. Neither of them move. They stand there for another long few minutes, then Mark squeezes him hard before stepping back a little. 

"Thanks," he mumbles quietly, not meeting Roger's eyes, "Sorry for getting your shirt all damp."

"Don't worry about it." Roger says back, matching Mark's quiet tone. Disappointed that they're back to tiptoeing around each other, apparently. 

"I'm also sorry for breaking the mug." Mark says, a little sheepishly.

"That one I cant forgive Cohen. We don't exactly have a lot of disposable money lying around to replace mugs with. So it looks like you'll have to share with me." Roger jokes tentatively.

"No way," Mark chuckles, "I don't want your germs!" 

His whole body freezes as soon as the words leave his mouth, and his wide blue eyes meet Rogers, filled with regret. But Roger knows that isn't what he meant.

"Don't worry Markey," he teases, "I don't have cooties!" 

Mark relaxes, and his face breaks into a tentative grin. Perhaps the tiptoeing is over after all. He turns, walking towards the phone. 

He calls over his shoulder as he does. "If you did, I'd probably have them too. We're attached at the damn hip. You sleep in my bed half the time for Christ's sake." He says as he picks up the phone and dials the number of whoever he's decided to call first. 

Roger chuckles before going to find the broom and dust pan.


End file.
